Morning
by ConcreteHole
Summary: The Trojan War is over, but Eudorus finds no peace with his own Helen. One-Shot.


**Hi!**

**Basically, this is a Eudorus one-shot, based sometime after his return home from Troy. He is easily the best and most underrated character from Troy, and I hope you'll agree that he needed some loving!**

**This is dedicated to and written for my ever wonderful beta Gaslight, who herself writes an incredible Eudorus story, 'From Ashes Reborn'. So if you love Eudorus as much as we do, check it out - you won't be disappointed, I promise!**

**Anyways, read and enjoy, and PLEASE review!!! You have no idea how much it would mean to me! It seems almost no one takes the time to review one-shots, only series, and it really sucks because so much effort are put into these! Thanks! :)  
**

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He sighed in contentment, his hand lazily tracing the warm body that lay within his arms. The gentle pattering of the rain and the soft beating of her heart would be enough to lull him into a deep, dreamless sleep were it not for the delicate breath that tickled his throat, or the knowledge that all to soon she would be far from his grasp.

With a tight closing of his eyes, and a gentle shake of his head he pushed away the desperate call of sleep, eager to spend as much time in this blissful seclusion as he could before daybreak.

Reluctantly, he reopened his eyes, wishing nothing more than to lie in this utter peace, and forget the atrocities of the world. Here, with her, they did not exist. Nothing existed. Only love and tranquillity, and the ever present knowledge of each others hearts.

She shifted in her sleep, murmuring his name softly, a mere echo and a whisper from how she had sighed it earlier that night.

Not even would he choose to be Zeus in this moment - not if it meant another's name was brought forth from her lips in the throes of ecstasy. For the first time in his life, no other man would he rather be than Eudorus. Not when he lay with her. He would chose not the name Achilles, or Odysseus or even to be counted among the Gods. No, not any longer. For it was Eudorus that she had laid her heart to, and for these few, brief encounters, that was enough reason to thank the Gods for his existence.

"Eudorus," she mumbled again, this time more insistent as she threw off the weariness of her slumber.

"Sleep, my love," he muttered gently, his chest rumbling as she shifted in his embrace once more.

Slowly she rolled further into his arms, melding their bodies together ever more tightly until it became near impossible to know where one ended, and the other began. He doubted whether or not he truly cared.

"Hold me tighter," she commanded, in her breathy whisper.

Though Eudorus knew it had been meant as a request and not a demand, there seemed little difference between the two. Her request was his command. Never was that more certain than when it was uttered with her undeniably amorous tone that always seemed to set his body and his soul on fire.

He obeyed instantly - did not he always? He welcomely pulled her tighter within his grasp, never for a moment losing the gentleness he reserved only for her. Only for this time, this sacred place when they could be together.

"Something is bothering you," she said, her voice never rising above a whisper. Sometimes he wondered if it even could. When no answer from her lover came, she urged on. "Why do you not speak to me, Eudorus?" she questioned mournfully. "Do you not trust me?"

"I trust you," he answered, sighing heavily. "But it is not your burden to bear."

"But your heart is, and for that I am bound to this eternal oath of devotion. Now speak, my love, lest you love me not."

He sighed again, shifting uncomfortably for the first time that night.

"That is not fair, Iseius," he replied, his mood moving to a darker side as she pestered him for questions, and questioned his love for her.

"And neither is being hidden from your mind."

"You are not hidden from my mind," he snapped, instantly regretting his harshness with her. His voice changed, returning to its usual calm tone as he finished softly, "The wound is simply to near to speak of."

"Achilles?" she said quietly, more of a statement than a question.

She already knew the answer, and had no need for her lover to bury his head softly in her neck to know she had reached the mark.

Eudorus made no reply, and that was well, for there was no need to.

Gently she slipped her arm around his broad shoulders, bringing him in further to the comfort of her warmth, and kissing his hair slowly. One arm gently stroked his back, snaking its way down the path of scars, some old, some new, and none unpainful or forgotten. The other tangled itself in his dark hair, in a silent show of comfort and affection to her lover.

She knew he needed not tender words, or long winded speeches about battles won, and friends lost. He needed her, to hold him, to love him, and most importantly, to not make him less of a man for receiving it.

It was only her that Eudorus shared this part of him with. Only she he knew would not turn away in disgust, and for that he had gifted her his soul eternally.

"I love you," she said quietly.

Three simple words. That's all they were, nothing more, Eudorus thought. Just words. Words that when divided meant nothing. Yet when they echoed from her lips, the world stopped, and all disappeared but they.

"And I you," he muttered in return, his words muffled by the softness of her throat. "Always."

"I know."

Curse her husband, he silently raged. That blasted whore monger that had bought her for nothing more than bedding and breeding. If Eudorus had had his way, then he would do as Paris had done, fool as the boy was, and whisk her away to a foreign land; far from prying eyes and judging minds, where they could be together always.

But that could never be. He knew that, and so did she. No matter where they went, Graccus would follow, and they would never be content.

And yet he would still try. No matter the risks, he would try, and as the Gods were his witness, he would cherish her every moment of his life.

But she would never leave her children.

She was barely more than a child herself when she was torn out of his embrace and married off to a rich man. A mighty dream for any peasant born, yet it was not her wish, and perhaps had Eudorus been more, he could have prevented it.

Yet he was not. He was no lord, no King. No royal blood flowed through his veins, no mightiness in his heart. He was a simple man, with a simple wish and a simple dream - to love and be loved. A great hearth, a bed and a woman to warm it... fat children. But he would have none of it. He was only a soldier, a mere fly on the wall of greatness, and she would never be his.

At least not in life.

But at night, when all were asleep, and her husband gone, busying himself with fat, busty women, she would be here.

Here in his arms, sleeping, dreaming; here in his bed, moaning and sighing. And most importantly, here in his heart, where she shall forever be.

She may have belonged to another man, but she was still his, as he was hers. No distance would separate them, not even death.

He took great joy in the fact that perhaps then they could be together. Maybe that was heaven. No great feasts, or warriors, or women. Just him and his sweet Iseius, holding hands in the market, kissing in the sun.

He could think of no greater wish.

He watched out the window of his bedroom as the sun began to rise in the east, and with a downcast heart, he knew their bliss was over.

"Iseius?"

"Yes, my love?"

"It's morning..."

"I know..."

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End file.
